


I'll Be There

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Head Injury, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a work in black, with harsh crimson slashes across it, that first set loose a feeling in Brian's subconscious that maybe something was... off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be There

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://marishna.livejournal.com/profile)[marishna](http://marishna.livejournal.com/) for her ideas at various points. And to [](http://jypzrose.livejournal.com/profile)[jypzrose](http://jypzrose.livejournal.com/) for her help as official Writing Guru. A thousand thank yous to [](http://m-annalore.livejournal.com/profile)[m_annalore](http://m-annalore.livejournal.com/) for the Beta job. And last but not least, thanks to [](http://xmirax.livejournal.com/profile)[xmirax](http://xmirax.livejournal.com/) for her input about the trigger. You'll get it when you read it.

Brian wiped a hand over his face tiredly and sighed. He'd really fucked things up with Justin this time.

Looking back, he realized how stupid the argument had been. Justin had come to the loft, a thousand-watt grin lighting up his face, and presented Brian with a flyer announcing the entrants of PIFA's first big gallery show of the semester. Brian had looked the sheet over, smiling a little when he'd noticed Justin's name among the ten listed.

"When is it?" he'd asked, handing the sheet of paper back to Justin.

"Friday night is the opening," Justin had replied. He'd looked insecure as he'd tentatively asked, "Do you think you might... want to go?"

Brian had pretended to think about it for about thirty seconds before Justin had figured him out and tackled him.

That'd been a good fuck, Brian recalled.

But Friday night had rolled around, and Brian had found himself wading through a mountainous pile of papers for work. Justin had managed, for once, to control his temper, muttering something about broken promises as he'd put on his coat and slung his bag onto his shoulder.

Brian remembered flinching when the loft door slammed.

When Daphne had called him two days later, he hadn't been surprised. Justin had been camping out at her apartment, and yes, Brian had been worried about him, even though he wasn't about to admit it to her. She'd said that Justin was fine, and that he'd mostly gotten over it. She'd said that if he didn't call Justin to patch things up with him, she'd come over and rip him a new asshole.

He'd believed her. Daphne could be a little scary sometimes.

It was 6:30 when Brian picked up the phone in his office and dialed Justin's cell phone number. It rang three times, and then Justin's voicemail picked up.

_Hey, I'm probably just ignoring you, but if it's important, yell at me after the beep._

"Pick up the fucking phone, Sunshine," Brian said in a falsely-cheerful tone. "I have to make nice with you, or Daphne promised that she'd cut off my balls and make me eat them." It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. "Call me when you're ready to talk." He hung up, determined to make Justin call next time.

Five minutes later, he dialed Justin's cell phone again. This time, Justin answered.

_Hey, Brian._

"Hey," Brian replied.

_Sorry I didn't pick up, but I was trying to finish a project._

Brian smiled a little, despite himself. "What kind of project? Not another portrait of my dick, is it?"

_I was drawing the sunset. It's amazing tonight. Look out your window._

"What makes you think that I want to stare at some sunset?" Brian asked, walking over to the picture window and gazing out over the Pittsburgh skyline at the darkening horizon. "Once you've seen one, you've seen them all."

_Because you're talking to me while you watch the sun go down. It's almost like you're watching it with me._

Brian moved the telephone receiver in front of his face and stared at it for a moment, then said, "Do you want me to hang up on you or something?" as he returned it to his ear.

_Pretend all you want._

He listened to Justin laugh and almost admitted that he didn't mind watching this particular sunset with him. Almost. "I want to see your work," he said instead.

_I'm almost done. Do you want to maybe, meet me there at eight? The crowd will have thinned out by then._

"Yeah, that sounds good. I've got some things to take care of before then." He rubbed his belly absently.

_Brian --_

"I'll be there this time, Justin."

 _I know._ A pause. _So I'll see you tonight?_

"I'll be there," Brian repeated. "Later."

_Later..._

Brian hung up and continued to look out the window. A knock on the door caused him to turn around abruptly.

"Brian."

"Hey, Mikey," he said. "What's going on?"

"Just thought I'd drop by and pay you a visit." The darker-haired man looked tired. "I can't stay long, Ma's expecting me - "

"Yeah, I've got some stuff I have to finish, anyway," Brian replied. "I'm meeting Justin at the gallery later." He looked out the window again. "That's a nice sunset, isn't it?"

"It's gorgeous," Michael answered. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm perfect," Brian said. "Listen, I've really got to finish this. Babylon tomorrow night?"

The slighter man closed his eyes, forcing himself to smile when he opened them again. He looked at Brian for a long moment, then looked away again. "Sure." Michael sounded almost resigned as he left the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned up against the door with a shuddering sigh, trying to erase the image of his once beautiful friend, staring at a blank wall. He knew that in Brian's mind, the white-painted cinder blocks were the most beautiful sunset he'd ever experienced.

He knew that in Brian's mind, the last ten years didn't exist.

 

_The Night of the Gallery Show_

As the last light of day faded, Justin packed his art supplies carefully, slipping pencils and pastels into the bag he'd brought with him. He studied the picture he'd drawn, with light touches of color in the skyline, and scrawled the date and his initials in the lower right corner.

Hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder, he stood, still looking at the drawing. He was so lost in the picture that he barely heard the fast thudding of footsteps coming up behind him. When a solid form collided into him from the back, sending him sprawling to the ground, he dropped the sketchbook and rolled to his feet, his bag forgotten and his cell phone lying a few feet away in the grass. "What the fuck?" he demanded.

"Give me your fucking money," a scrawny, unkempt man demanded, flashing a knife at him. "Give it to me or I'll cut your throat!"

Justin's first thought was bordering on hysteria: why would someone mug an art student in college? His second thought was: he really had to get that knife from the guy. He lunged at the mugger, grappling for the knife in an attempt to disarm him. They fought for a moment, each trying to get the upper hand. A cry of pain burst forth from the struggling men and Justin's attacker let go of the knife, his eyes wide with surprise.

It was funny, Justin thought a few minutes later as he lay gasping on the pavement, how a blade sliding into your gut never felt like they said it did in books or movies. And _fuck_ his life flashing before his eyes, because all he could think about was the giant, bleeding hole in his belly where his navel used to be.

And Brian. God, Brian. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? Brian was probably getting done with work, now. And Justin was lying in a pool of his own blood, completely fucked up, too weak to call for help.

"Bri - " he whispered, surprised at how cracked and dry his lips felt. "Bri - I'm sorry..."

Blackness swallowed him.

 

At 7:15, Brian sauntered into the diner and got a cup of coffee at the counter, scanning the crowd. It was unusually busy for a Monday night.

He spotted a few familiar faces and headed toward them.

"Are you coming to Heaven and Hell night at Babylon?" Emmett asked as Brian squeezed into the booth where the regular gang was seated.

Brian shook his head. "Nah. I'm busy tonight."

"You never miss Heaven and Hell night," Michael pointed out. "Remember the year you fucked Satan?"

"I have somewhere else to be," Brian said, throwing his friend a look. Michael took the hint and stopped protesting. "I'm sure you'll tell me all about it. Besides, there's always the big spring party next week." He took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down again.

"What can I get you, sweetie?" Deb asked, her wig only slightly askew as she approached the table, order pad in hand.

"A couple of lemon bars to go," Brian said. "I told Justin I'd check out his work at his school's gallery showing."

"Oh, I was so proud of Sunshine when he told me!" Debbie exclaimed, a huge smile on her face. "And you should've seen his face. He's all grown up now. His first show..."

"Second," Brian replied. He still had the naked sketch of himself lying around somewhere, from Justin's first.

"You make sure to tell him that we're all very proud of him," Debbie said over her shoulder as she fetched Brian's lemon bars.

Brian glanced up to see Emmett looking at him in undisguised shock. "You're missing _Heaven and Hell night_ for _Justin_?" he asked, the pitch of his voice getting higher on each word. "Oh my Lord, someone check outside for flying pigs."

"Fuck you," Brian replied succinctly. He got up in a fluid movement, stretching only a little. "Debbie, got my lemon bars ready?" he asked as he approached the counter.

The waitress handed him a paper sack. "Five seventy-five," she said.

He handed her a twenty. "Keep the change."

 

Brian made it to the gallery at five of eight. He checked his hair in the side mirror of his Jeep, then got out and smoked half a cigarette before making his big entrance.

As entrances go, it was brilliant. It was beautiful. He swept inside as if he owned the place, looking gorgeous as always.

Justin wasn't there to see it.

For the first half-hour or so, Brian figured that maybe Justin was running late, or that he'd gotten stuck in traffic. He wandered through the gallery, not really taking an interest in any of the artwork, but he'd told Justin that he'd be there. He wondered, not for the first time, when he'd started to care about whether or not his actions would hurt the blond.

At 8:45, Brian checked his home phone messages. The first message was from his life insurance company, hoping he'd had a healthy year, and would he like to upgrade his policy for only a five percent increase in premiums? He erased it. Message number two was from Jennifer Taylor. She wanted to know if Justin would come to dinner at her place. Brian saved that one.

 _Hey... Brian..._ Message three was from Justin. _I... I just wanted to let you know that I'm not mad. You know, about the opening. I mean, I'm not anymore, anyway. I know that your work has to come first for you, especially now that you made partner. So... I guess I was hoping maybe you'd let me come home?_

If anyone asked, Brian would deny that he'd listened to Justin's message twice more before shutting off his cell phone. He slipped the phone into his pocket and perused more of the paintings, trying not to let his increasing irritation at Justin's absence show.

It was a work in black, with harsh crimson slashes across it, that first set loose a feeling in Brian's subconscious that maybe something was... off. The violent bursts of color on the colorless canvas were nearly mesmerizing, and he had to wrench his attention from them, shaking his head to ward off the feeling. He closed his eyes and breathed. Where the fuck was Justin?

He ignored the knot of tension just under his heart until 9:00 pm. Then, unable to take it anymore, he left the gallery and pulled out his cell phone.

Daphne picked up on the third ring. There was loud rock music playing in the background. _Hello?_ The music turned down.

"Where's Justin?" Brian asked as he climbed into the Jeep and slid the keys into the ignition.

_Brian?_

"Yes, Daphne," Brian replied. He turned the key and the Jeep rumbled to life. "Where is he?"

_Brian, how'd you get my number?_

"Justin gave it to me. I'm looking for him. Is he there?" He pulled out into traffic.

_No... Why are you looking for him, anyway?_

"I called and made nice like you asked," Brian replied. He flipped off a passing car. "Justin was supposed to meet me at the gallery to show me his stuff at eight. He's not standing me up because I couldn't make it to the opening, is he?"

_He's not mad anymore. I don't think he'd do that._

"Alright. Thanks, Daphne." He snapped the phone closed. "Fuck."

Brian tried Michael next. Then Emmett. Then Lindsay and Melanie. None of them had heard from Justin in the past three hours. Lindsay thought it was sweet that Brian was worrying, and Brian informed her in no uncertain terms that he wasn't worried. He neglected to mention that he was terrified.

Driving around with no real direction wasn't helping, either.

He didn't know what caused him to do a U-turn in the middle of a four-lane street and head back in the direction of the park. He ignored several honks that were emitted from the cars of pissed-off drivers that he cut off, floored it, and screeched into a parking spot outside the main entrance of the park fifteen minutes later.

He called Justin's cell when he walked through the gate. When the voicemail picked up, he said, "Justin, where the fuck are you? I hung around the gallery for an hour. Nobody knows where you are. Turn on your phone and call me. I'm looking for you in the fucking park. You'd better be somewhere else. Like in my bed, waiting for me to come home and punish you for skipping out on me tonight."

Flickering streetlights illuminated his way as he walked further into the park. Something crunched beneath his heel.

If he'd looked down, he'd have noticed that it was the same brand of drawing pencil that Justin liked to use.

Five minutes passed. Ten. He dialed Justin's number again. "Justin, you'd better fucking call me. I'm not kidding."

He reached the fence on the opposite side of the park and doubled back. He'd left his cigarettes in the Jeep, and he could've really used a nicotine infusion right about then. "Justin, get your ass to the loft. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Brian closed his cell and pocketed it. He grumbled to himself and continued back through the park, resenting Justin for making him worry. They were going to have a nice, long talk when Justin showed up.

Three minutes later, he opened it and dialed Justin's number one last time as he headed for the main gate. A familiar ringtone, muffled by distance and vegetation, caused the fist of tension under his heart to punch through, setting off palpitations.

When Brian saw a pale hand, lying half in shadow, he dropped his cell phone and his knees buckled. The last thing he saw before he began to vomit uncontrollably was a perfect drawing of a sunset, hued with pastels, blood spattered across it.

 

_Present Day - Fairview Mental Health Institute_

One day, Michael would bring Brian the article that detailed Justin's death. A violin student at PIFA had discovered the two men the next morning when he was taking an early-morning walk. Brian had been catatonic, clutching Justin's body to his chest. His three thousand dollar suit had been covered in the dark crust of old blood.

Justin's murderer remained at large.

Now Brian, once the beautiful, unattainable King of Liberty Avenue, ruled over a small, windowless room at a mental hospital, where he saw the most beautiful sunsets.


End file.
